Immaculate Deception
by Ziggy Sternenstaub
Summary: As the rebellion against Palpatine's New Order first makes itself known, Darth Vader, faced with the daunting task of destroying this new Alliance against his master, finds himself unexpectedly embroiled in mysteries he thought long ago laid to rest...


A new story brought to you by two ardent fans of Lord Vader and Lord Sidious! We hope that you enjoy.

* * *

**Immaculate Deception**

By What-Ansketil-Did-Next and Ziggy Sternenstaub

"Move the fleet to the dark side of the planet and intercept the X-wing fighters ship to ship!" Lord Vader barked, swinging his armoured body around to face Admiral Ozzel.

The smaller man nodded curtly and hurried away to fulfill his orders; Vader did not bother to monitor his progress. The Dark Lord took long strides off of the bridge and rode the lift down to the hangar bay where his co-pilots were already climbing into their TIE fighters. Vader, too, hoisted his enormous body into his modified TIE and impatiently waited for the bay doors to open. _Executor_ did not take long to clear the bright side of Telfrey, and the Sith was soon racing through a maelstrom of battered, ancient X-wings, navigating a labyrinth of blazing lazer fire. Time slowed down as Vader's Force-augmented reflexes took over the motion of his hands and the direction of his eyes. Even the best of the enemy pilots had no chance; from Vader's perspective they seemed to be flying through honey, and his own fighter felt as though it were moving even more quickly than its heavily modified engines could account for.

"Lord Vader, we have intercepted the Rebel fleet," Ozzel's prissy voice announced in the Sith Lord's helmet.

"I am aware of that, Admiral," Vader growled as his fingers tightened on the trigger. An X-wing exploded into a shower of sparks that would have blinded a pilot whose sight was not artificially regulated.

"Yes, m'Lord," Ozzel simpered.

Cleaning up the remaining X-wings was quick work, but Vader sensed that something was wrong. This could not have been the extent of the insurgent attack; if so, it had been a suicide mission to no purpose.

"Status report," Vader barked at Captain Piett when the Dark Lord arrived back on the bridge.

"M'Lord," Piett nodded jerkily. His eyes were wide with something approaching panic. "The dissidents are on the planet!"

"Explain."

"According to planetary records, there has been an upsurge in merchant landings this past month. We assume that the dissidents have been disguising themselves and gathering slowly. They've presently surrounded the capital and taken Moff Michaelson hostage! We are sending more troops down to the surface to engage the treasonous forces."

Vader did not hesitate. "I will accompany them."

"M'Lord! Perhaps you should--"

Vader leaned menacingly down into Piett's face. "You have a suggestion, Captain?" he intoned.

Piett swallowed heavily. "No, m'Lord. I will inform the troops."

"Very good," Vader replied silkily.

The Sith Lord forced himself remain dignified during the shuttle ride down to Telfrey, but energy was surging through his body in barely controlled waves. He wanted to move; he wanted to fight. Instead, he thought about how the incident had started.

Telfrey was home to a mixed species population of humans, Hutts and Toydarians and had traditionally been controlled by the Toydarian royal family. Last year Queen Maata had died without an heir, and rather than allow a war of succession to begin, Palpatine had decided to install a planetary governor. Moff Michaelson's appointment had not initially been contested by the citizenry, but off-planet terrorists had taken exception to a so-called 'infringement of sentient rights.' They had publicly objected to Michaelson's installation and roused Telfrey's few dissident elements. There had been peaceful protesting over the past few months, and a growing movement to succeed Maata with her sixth cousin by marriage. As usual, the subversive mutterings had seemed to amuse Palpatine more than they angered him, which frustrated Vader to no end. The ceremony couldn't have come quickly enough to suit the Sith apprentice but, unlike Palpatine, Vader had been anticipating more serious trouble. For that reason he had unofficially delayed Michaelson's assumption of office, keeping the man sequestered while the Sith waited on a possible attack.

The wretched insurgents had not disappointed him. Almost to the scheduled minute of Michaelson's acceptance of office, a dozen antique cruisers had dropped out of hyperspace, and _Executor_ and five sister ships had been there to meet them. Three of the enemy cruisers had been destroyed in the battle, but the rest had taken up a defensive position over the capital, and unless Vader wanted to rain fiery refuse down on the populace, he had no choice but to take the battle to the ground. Current streaming informed him that the Fleet was at a standstill. The terrorists would not escape, but having nothing to lose they maintained the superior position.

Vader's shuttle and its armed escort landed just outside of the capital, and the Sith Lord strode out to take his place at the head of a thousand troops. They followed him as he relentlessly moved in on the ragged guerrilla soldiers that marred the radiant outer landscape of Appaliga City, a true jewel of the Mid Rim. The capital's unusually empty streets conjured old memories in Vader, of another time when violence had torn into this peaceful façade. The Clone Wars had brought Anakin Skywalker to the mineral-rich planet, and the Jedi had battled their way through these streets while its peaceful inhabitants barricaded themselves behind organic doors that flowed seamlessly into houses constructed from the very hills. Then, as now, thousands of flowers had covered the face of each building; walls were illuminated by neon torches that blazed a veritable kaleidoscope of colour: gems against the midnight sky. It must have taken the people much of the past two decades to restore this midsummer dream, only for it to be savaged once again.

Vader banished the disturbing memories and hardened his heart to the delicate beauty. Ordering his Stormtroopers into an aggressive wedge, he attempted to cut a path to Moff Michaelson and the hostage citizens, but there were too many insurgents. The traitors had planned their attack very well, and the Dark Lord was increasingly, helplessly enraged. Dirty, jeering faces screamed defiance at him as he lashed out with the Force, scattering the enemy only to be surrounded once again. There were at least several thousand beings blocking the way, too many for even his highly trained soldiers.

Vader impaled a howling, ragged Wookiee with his lightsabre, jumped over the body and called on the Force to move the ground beneath his feet. Tremendous quakes sent dozens of enemy soldiers crashing to the ground. The Imperial troops cheered and charged forward, making progress through the Appaliga suburbs, but still there were too many, and though Vader called on the Force again and again, he was tiring.

"Dark Lord!" a woman's voice screamed from perhaps fifteen metres away. "Halt your attack or we kill the bastard!"

Vader turned to the speaker and saw an orange Twi'lek holding a semi-automatic Outer Rim rifle to the terrified Moff Michaelson's head.

"Kill him, then," Vader boomed, fully aware that the woman was not bluffing. He would not bargain with this scum.

The Twi'lek's face twisted with rage, and a sharp retort rent the air. Scarlet rain drew obscene patterns on gleaming white Stormtrooper armour. One moment Michaelson was gasping and trembling; the next moment he fell to the ground, half of his skull missing. His one remaining blue eye stared relentlessly.

"Take them," Vader said flatly, and his troops started fighting forward again, trying to reach the traitor who stood kicking Michaelson's corpse.

Time slowed down for Vader, but it did him no good. The mob was too large; the terrorists advanced through molasses, but still they advanced. Furious, covered in sapient debris, and exhausted, Vader finally called the retreat.

Seeing the Imperial troops moving back, the traitors cheered and shook their weapons with triumph.

"We will not leave until the Emperor allows Cousin Efro to ascend the throne!" the Twi'lek leader screamed as the terrorists again took up defensive positions.

Vader said nothing. The ride back up to the ship was tense; his pilot was obviously nervous. The man no doubt feared for his life, but Vader did not have the energy for an attack--not considering what he must do next. He briefly contemplated contacting Palpatine for advice, but he already knew what the Emperor would say. It was pointless to delay the inevitable.

Ten minutes later, Vader walked back onto the bridge of _Executor_. The air was unnaturally still, and though none of the men seemed to look at him, he felt their eyes follow his every move. Ozzel was pulling on the hem of his clean grey uniform and clearing his throat: a staccato accompaniment to the clip of Vader's scorched and blood-stained boots.

"Lord Vader," the man offered stiffly.

"Engage the enemy over Appaliga City, then raze the suburbs," Vader ordered.

Ozzel's eyes widened. "M'lord, we'll destroy the city!"

"I am not a fool, Ozzel," Vader grated impatiently. "I know what will happen. Do it."

The admiral swallowed heavily. "Perhaps we should contact His Majesty...."

"His Majesty would order the very same. Execute my order."

"Yes, m'Lord," Ozzel agreed, far too hesitantly to suit the Dark Lord's taste.

But the man obeyed without further protest, and soon enormous pieces of blazing shrapnel were tumbling from space, tearing through the atmosphere and wreaking destruction on the priceless emerald below. Even nine heavy Republic cruisers could not stand up against the might of six Imperial Star Destroyers.

Data stream tracked the city's destruction, and Vader regarded the numbers with a heavy heart. Most of the dying were loyal Imperial citizens who had taken no part in either the protest or the battle. Vader sighed and folded his arms as he slowly paced along the viewport. He did not doubt that there would be a price to pay for today's fiasco.

* * *

Her image, dancing through billions of hijacked hyperwave-transceivers, hit _Executor_ and other Imperial vessels in the region first. Interrupting all other broadcasts; it gathered momentum everywhere from the poorest civilian homes to the palatial residences of imperial governors, as it pounded its way from the Outer Rim and war-torn Telfry toward the heart of the galaxy; trailing fear, anger, amazement and hope behind it like the banners of a comet.

Paradoxically, one of the last to see the message was the being to whom it was addressed.

Seated, regnant, His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Palpatine, Sovereign of the Known Galaxy, held forth from the obsidian brilliance of his throne. Like a black stamen in the centre of a crimson flower, the imperial dais nestled within the well of scarlet that was the Imperial Senate. The State of the Empire address: a masterwork of rhetoric delivered in an impeccable style; that eerie, stygian, and occasionally lyrical baritone resounded, blossoming upward to where Senator Organa sat, watching him with her hands folded primly in the whiteness of her lap, waiting for the moment. Her pretty brow creased in concentration as the young senator peered downward, trying to see into the confines of that throne.

As always, the Emperor's hideous face was shrouded under a deep hood, but his ashen hands were visible, perched on the tips of the elaborate armrests of the throne as Palpatine leaned forward into his declamation. Leia was so busy studying the monarch she almost missed the sign. She caught the movement just in time, out of the corner of her eye: a flash of grey dress uniform – taking the steep steps up to the throne at a tense pace. The senator held her breath, not hearing a word of the emperor's speech, as the man stopped beside Grand Vizier Imperial, Sate Pestage, and whispered something discreetly into his ear.

Swaddled in his purple robes and headpiece, Pestage's face was equally hard to make out, but even from a distance the senator could see the tension which now suffused his body when, like a small creature caught in a bright light, the vizier froze as he glanced at the Emperor, who continued to declare the peace and prosperity of his dominions. Pestage began to twist his hands together nervously and attempted to approach the sovereign, but Palpatine waved him away curtly without breaking the flow of his speech, unwilling to be interrupted.

It was then that the murmuring began. A rustling on plush red seats, the discreet whispers of senatorial attachés: the political equivalent of a Gammorean watch-beast scenting blood. Palpatine did not pause, exactly, but his words slowed a little as his brow creased. Yellow eyes shot the vizier a sharp glance and a datapad was slipped discreetly into a decayed, ivory hand. Leia's sweaty fingers gripped the edge of her pod.

There was a pause then, just long enough to draw breath, before – because he had been a politician for some half a century – the Emperor slowly continued speaking. Emphasising the great strength of his empire, its unity a bulwark against that perpetual demon: civil war, and those irresponsible enough to seek it and, most importantly, (although he specifically did not say this) which side, in the event of such a war, it would be wisest to support.

And Leia Organa, who had been so sure of witnessing something glorious, shivered. Her father's tales of the Clone Wars hung over her and she wondered for a moment if she really was doing the right thing. _Were all those lives worth it?_ The air suddenly felt black and sticky – cloying – and she felt sick, appalled at what might await the rebel army holding Appaliga City. What before had only hardened her resolve, like clay in a Alderaani potter's white-hot kiln, now made her doubt – shivering with the horror of it. Countless other planets would soon be alight... Leia turned away, unable to look at the Emperor any longer. There was no triumph here.

Applause: vigorous, sweaty, applause followed Palpatine's oration and his saffron eyes glared at the Imperial Senate even as he stood and bowed graciously to his subjects, rotten teeth grinding. His advisors, following their emperor out of the din of praise, traded looks of apprehension as they filed after him.

They did not have to wait long. The datapad shattered against a stylised, aurodium bass-relief, narrowly missing the grand vizier's head. Sate Pestage subtly gestured for the others to flee; until only the vizier remained with the distraught monarch.

"_Your Majesty–!_" But he too was flung backward, hitting the wall hard.

Palpatine paced, furious. To be humiliated… and, oh, he had felt their amusement, they way they had leaned forward, those anachronistic piranhas! It had been a long time since he'd resorted to more arcane tactics in order to subdue them. "Show me," he ordered the disordered mess of plum-coloured robes that was Pestage. "What accusations have these fools had the audacity to make against me on such a day as this?"

The vizier hobbled hastily toward a holo-projector, while Palpatine sat – as still and enigmatic as one of the sculpted sages that decorated the room. "It..." Pestage quavered, "it is being broadcast on every HoloNet channel." He pressed the button.

The shivery blue figure of the former senator of Chandrila materialised before them:

_"We, the beings of the Rebel Alliance, do this day send forth this Declaration to His Majesty, the Emperor, and to all sentient beings in the Galaxy, to make clear to all the purposes and goals of this rebellion. We firmly acknowledge the importance and necessity of the institution of Galactic Government. We accept that all must subjugate themselves to that Government, giving up certain rights and freedoms, in return for peace, prosperity and happiness for all._

_We believe that the Galactic Government derives its power and right to rule from the consent of the governed. We believe that, should the rights of free beings be willfully and malignantly usurped, it is the unalienable right of said beings to alter or abolish said Government._

_We believe that the Galactic Empire has willfully and malignantly usurped the rights of the free beings of the Galaxy and therefore, it is our unalienable right to abolish it from the Galaxy._

_We do not take this course lightly. Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes, but when a Government displays a history of usurpation, abuse and moral atrocity, displaying a clear design to subjugate absolutely beings born free under the auspices of nature, it is our right—our duty—to depose of that Government._

_The history of the Galactic Empire is one of repeated injuries upon its members, with the direct objective of establishing you, Emperor Palpatine, as absolute tyrant over the Galaxy: You have overthrown the chosen leaders of planets, replacing them with moffs and governors of your choice; you have raised taxes without the consent of those taxed, you have murdered and imprisoned millions without benefit of trial, you have unlawfully taken land and property, and you have expanded the military far beyond what is necessary and prudent, for the sole purpose of oppressing your subjects. We, the Rebel Alliance, do therefore in the name—and by the authority—of the free beings of the Galaxy, solemnly declare our intentions:_

_To fight and oppose you and your forces, by any and all means at our disposal;_

_To refuse any imperial law contrary to the rights of free beings;_

_To bring about your destruction and the destruction of the Galactic Empire;_

_To make forever free all beings in the galaxy._

_To these ends, we pledge our property, our honor, and our lives."_

The room fell silent. Pestage moved to speak but the Emperor silenced him with twitch of a pale finger. For a long time the emperor stared into the air where Mothma's holographic eyes had been. The noise was soft at first: a low sound, like the slow ignition of a sky-car, then it grew, and grew, maturing into full, unhinged, paroxysms of mirth – tears sprung from Palpatine's feral eyes – crying with laughter, he used a withered hand to brush away the outpouring of his amusement. His words were full of savage humour: "That _infantile_ Chandrilian would have accomplished so much more had she adopted more peaceable methods; you would think she would have learnt long ago that war is _my_ ally – not hers. I trust we have shut down this transmission?"

Pestage kept his expression carefully blank, not looking at the seated monarch. "I have been assured it is a matter of minutes, Your Majesty, but there is… something _else._.."

The galactic sovereign recovered himself, turning his chair to face Pestage. "Oh?" There was no trace of humour left in the syllable and, as his dark hood was low over his malformed face, all the vizier could see of the monarch's expression was a cruel twist of grey lip.

"Lord Vader has engaged with dissident factions on Telfry. If you recall, there was some local trouble concerning your descision to appoint Michaelson directly." Pestage's careful face tried to ease itself into a less pained expression and failed.

"Ah yes," the Emperor purred, "I assume my apprentice has dealt with them?"

"Indeed, sire, he destroyed the capital from orbit."

"And this is... already known to the Galaxy?" The tremble of horror in Palpatine's voice was audible. _Devastation was well enough, but certainly not when one had just been publicly preaching peace and prosperity for all!_

"No, Majesty. But doubtless it will be very soon. I have Lord Vader's report, if you wish to see it?"

"How _dare _he!" The fury was back in full force, charging the air with its violence, and Pestage involuntarily backed away, almost tripping over his robes. The Emperor paced before a wide window of darkening, bruised clouds, roiling above Imperial Centre. He turned contemptuously from his vizier. "Does he think to embarrass me further by indulging his passion for violence at such a time?" His voice was low and dangerous, like the long roll of thunder before a second sheet of lightning.

"He was forced from the planet – Moff Michaelson is dead."

"_Forced from the_… they have actually managed to defeat _my _Sith Lord?" Anger warred with astonishment on the Emperor's withered features.

"My understanding is that Lord Vader's forces were surprised, Your Majesty. They had old Republic cruisers and a large ground force. His last report indicated that he had been driven into orbit and was eliminating the dissident elements in the only way availible to him."

The Emperor's eyes were narrowed slits of burning amber. "I did not think Mothma had it in her to make such a raw statement. She must have arrayed all the suicides in the Galaxy about her! Well, let her bear the guilt for forcing my hand – this will stick to her precious concience." He stood and glided back to the widow, Imperial Centre laid out before him; his figure cast into sinister silhouette against the skyline as a pale hand stretched out to stroke the transparisteel. "My apprentice has left the job half done. It is not enough to burn Telfry's capital. Order him to finish what he has started."

"Your Majesty?"

"We are at war," he whispered, "and these are their opening moves… order my friend to mount an immediate orbital bombardment. Leave nothing alive."_ Let him pound the earth with laser-cannon until the surface of the planet cracks and every living thing is obliterated... If it's war Mothma wants, it's war she shall have. I'll even give her the victory honours of our first battle..._

"What?" Sate's dark eyes widened in their wrinkled beds, his mouth opening in surprise, "but, our own personnel…? The majority of Telfryan life forms are devoted to you! Surely the destruction of their capital is enough-"

The Emperor sighed, but the ghost of his cold eyes and wicked smile were reflected in the transaparisteel. "Is there no end to the depths to which this so-called Alliance will stoop in their disregard for the lives of Imperial citizens?" A quick, pained, intake of breath – and even Sate Pestage, but for his long-association with Palpatine, might have believed it to be real anguish which caused the sovereign's breath to become so laboured.

"It appears not, Your Majesty," the vizier bowed and withdrew.

* * *

Vader's cloak spread majestically around his newly shining armour, pooling in obsidian waves as he slowly knelt before the great holoprojector outside of his meditation chamber. Trembling anticipation and the barest edge of fear did not shake his limbs; instead they drove his respirator to work all the harder in regulating breaths that wanted to quicken. He did not know when this strange arousal had dawned on his body, when Palpatine had stopped being a friend and confidant and had metamorphosed into the demon of power that ignited Vader's dreams and fueled his nightmares. Surely it had not been when he was a child, nor when he was a very young man, but with the corruption of his spirit he had been drawn ever more to his fiendish master's commanding heart. And so he waited for the cloaked form and abyssal voice to command him, waited with all the patience of the already-damned. His hand clenched when the buzz announced the projector's activation, and he reverently bowed his head as the image began to shimmer into view.

"Lord Vader," a dry voice announced.

Vader's helmet snapped up and he rose to his feet in nearly the same motion. This was not his Emperor, but the blandly infuriating grand vizier.

"Pestage," Vader rumbled contemptuously.

"His Majesty sends greetings," the vizier informed him with a perceptible edge of amusement.

Vader swallowed his humiliation and offered a cool nod in response before falling utterly still. Let Pestage come to him.

The vizier's countenance smoothed into grave lines, and Vader had a sudden premonition that he would not like what the old man had to say. "I have new orders from the Emperor. You are to carry them out immediately."

"What are these orders?" Vader demanded when Pestage said no more.

The vizier cleared his throat. "You are to destroy Telfrey."

"Destroy it?" Vader echoed slowly.

"Eliminate every thing that breathes. By His Majesty's command."

The Dark Lord allowed several moments to pass as he absorbed the order. What was Palpatine thinking? Even his fury at the terrorist attack could not have precipitated this mad command that would be all the more inflammatory for having been delivered directly after the traitors had declared themselves.

"I will speak with the Emperor directly," Vader demanded.

Pestage shook his head. "His Majesty is in session. He will not be free for some time."

"Then I will wait!" the Dark Lord snarled, ending the communication with a slap of his glove.

The console repeatedly emitted urgent calls for his attention, but Vader refused to answer. He paced in front of the holoprojector, eating up space with great strides of fury. He did not know why he had demanded to speak with the Emperor. Palpatine had made up his mind to kill billions for no good reason, and once the regal mind was made, there was no changing it. Perhaps, Vader considered caustically, he was merely angry that the Emperor had not conveyed the order himself--an addict's response to having been denied his drug of choice.

No, it was more than that. Palpatine's decision was strategically and politically unwise-- the military equivalent of waving a bloody chunk of meat in front of a Rancor and then expecting it not to attack. Was this mere overconfidence, or was the Emperor now truly so isolated that he believed himself invincible? A shudder ran down Vader's back as he considered an even more terrible alternative: senility. If Palpatine's great age was truly sending him mad, then no one in the galaxy was safe, Vader himself least of all.

Anticipating eventual response from the Emperor, Vader sequestered himself in his meditation pod. Sitting cross-legged on the ground, hands on his steel knees, he thought of the disastrous events of the last day, events which had been largely precipitated by either Palpatine's shortsightedness or his deliberate malice. Vader felt renewed anger rise in his chest, but instead of letting it provoke him to violence, he basked in the sensation, drawing power and confidence from his black humour. His rage was a palpable presence whose remote, alien strength felt almost like a completely separate individual, and inside the absolutely blackness of the pod, Vader embraced that alien individual, making love to his own darkness.

Hours passed like years in the isolation of solipsistic delight, but Vader was still surprised when the intercom rang.

"Yes?" Vader asked flatly, holding down the 'speak' button.

"M'Lord!" a young, terrified voice stammered. "A message for you from the Emperor."

Dammit! Palpatine had completely circumvented so much as personally sneering at his apprentice.

"Enter," Vader instructed the soldier.

He waited for his mask and helmet to cover his head before opening the pod, not being particularly in the mood to mortify anyone with his scars. A fresh-faced lieutenant stood at rigid attention, and even filled to busting with the Dark Side, Vader could not help being slightly amused.

"Your message, Lieutenant?" he asked dryly.

"M'Lord," the man stammered, trembling hand passing the Dark Lord a slip of paper.

Vader took it, quite deliberately grazing the lieutenant's thumb with his gauntlet, just to see the youth's eyes widen and roll back into his head like those of a trembling Dewback scenting a predator.

Yet the Dark Lord's amusement vanished when he read the note, his playful threats turning terrifyingly real. All of the anger he could not take out on Pestage returned to him, and soon the sound of frantic choking filled the air, followed by a bone-shattering crack as the body hit the bulkhead.

Vader fiercely crumbled the note in his hand, leaving an invisible imprint of three bleak words: Do it now.

He briefly considered giving the order via holo, but something about that felt wrong. His officers might balk at such an insane command if he weren't there to enforce it, but foremost was the thought that he owed the loyal citizens of Telfrey more than he could give them; the least he could do was have the courage to deliver the order in person.

The anticipation did not help his mood. As he exited his chambers, wide-eyed ensigns skittered out of the Dark Lord's path, and even squads of faceless Stormtroopers seemed to slightly swerve, skirting the corona of fear and anger that preceded Vader. Back on the bridge, Piett jumped to attention and narrowly avoided being walked over.

Ozzel arrogantly shuffled into the Sith's view. "Lord Vader. Sixty two prisoners have been taken from the two remaining cruisers. They are being held in the brig," he announced obliviously.

"Eliminate all aerial craft and initiate a planetary bombardment," Vader breathed.

"M'lord! Why--what is the meaning of this?"

The Sith whirled on his admiral and immediately applied pressure to the man's throat. "Do not question my orders. _Do it now_."

The bridge paused with horrified anticipation as technicians and officers watched Ozzel drop, gasping, to his knees.

"Yes, m'Lord," the man whispered after he had caught his breath.

"Leave nothing alive!" Vader trumpeted before turning on his heel and mounting his customary place at the viewscreen. He did not want to watch the irrational devastation, but in this manner, too, he would honour the loyal Imperial citizens who made the ultimate sacrifice for their government.

It did not take long before ships began flying out of orbit, desperately attempting to escape the attack. None managed; _Executor_'s gunners were efficient men. Vader absorbed the ripples in the Force as each life spirit was released from the flesh; absorbed and acknowledged each soul until the cannons were turned on the planet's surface, and too many were dying for even Vader to individually perceive. Ripples turned to waves, and the Dark Lord stood in a great flooding rush of power and suffering as the face of the planet turned black and Telfrey died.

Standing there, an old memory crept up on Vader. Watery and blurred as Anakin Skywalker's experiences always were, it was still powerful enough to grip the Dark Lord's body in a desperate fist.

_Anakin had never seen anything like Telfrey. After many years of barren desert and monolithic city planet, the abundance of growth here was breathtaking. Everywhere the young Jedi looked he saw tremendous, drooping blooms: white, blue, red, orange, yellow, every colour he could imagine and a few that he never had. Hesitantly, he reached out his real hand to touch a great scarlet blossom._

_"They're amazing, Master," he whispered to Obi-Wan._

_"They're dying, Anakin," his teacher answered gravely._

_Anakin nodded solemnly and folded his arms. "This is Dooku's fault," he said darkly, pronouncing the name like a curse._

_The Jedi Master smiled wryly, his face lined with exhaustion. "If only it were that simple. Use your head, Padawan. This is our fault, too."_

_"We didn't start this war!" Anakin flared._

_"Didn't we? We took those clones when we did not have to. We engaged in violence, and now the Republic is locked in a war that was born of the Dark Side."_

_"If we hadn't, the Separatists would have taken us without a fight!"_

_"And if we had been taken peacefully, perhaps we could have assimilated the violence they precipitated. Now our complicity in this war is begetting only more violence. Millions will die before the conflict ends. Are ideals worth those lives?"_

_"Those people would not want to live under the oppression of the Separatists," Anakin stubbornly insisted._

_Obi-Wan gazed at him sadly. "Governments die, my young student. Ideals come and go. Lives should not be so lightly bought."_

_Anakin turned back to the flower and touched the blossom again, infinitely gently._

_Vader could not remember if Anakin had plucked the flower or left it to flourish and die in its own time. He tried to dismiss the memory, but the strange summons lingered._

Foolish young Skywalker. Would the callow boy never cease to haunt him?

The lasers scorching the earth below offered him no answers. Later, returning to his quarters and the body he had entirely forgotten, the Dark Lord was overwhelmed with numb melancholia. After absently summoning maintenance to retrieve the corpse, he went to bed early. The engines rumbled beneath his mechanized sleep, bearing Executor back to Coruscant.

* * *

Thanks for reading chapter one. Comments are welcome!


End file.
